The first time I dined at Pucquio (pronounced POOK-yo), a Peruvian restaurant in the Rockridge neighborhood of Oakland, I came across the staff enjoying sushi on a slow night. It was a cold, sleepy Friday, with the occasional sleepy pedestrian walking his dog along College Avenue, and I could see the rest of the little restaurant was empty. That didn’t dampen my cravings for ceviche, so I went straight in.
What followed was a torrent of small plates highlighted by remarkably hard-hitting ceviches. Bathed in the warmth of heaters attached to a propane tank inside the restaurant’s parklet, I stayed well past the 10 p.m. closing time. I was tempted to shout at every passer-by to join me.
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